Breathe For You, Breathe For Me
by Scavenge-4-Dreams
Summary: When death approaches, will you take from another? With lips upon lips, will you steal the breath of your lover? Part 10 of As Easy As. Established Stony
1. To take a breath, Press a kiss

Chapter 1: To take a breath, Press a kiss.

"…Cordially invited to, blah, blah, blah-" his hand hovered over the massive pile of paperwork on the far left of the desk and then across the ever-growing collection of papers littering the floor. The words 'Children's hospital' caught his eye on the letter and with a sigh, Tony dropped it onto the table pile.

He reached for the next non-descript envelope, sliced the screwdriver beneath the flap and opened it, sliding the sheath of papers out. His eyes saw columns and numbers, and he immediately dropped it on top of the children's benefit letter, with a resounding, "Pepper."

The next letter to hand was already open, and in bright red pen Pepper had written across the front – 'Tony, these patent motions require your signature, do not send them back to me for a third time without signing them!"

Again, he wavered, hand hovering over Pepper's pile for a devilish moment, before he tossed them on top of the subscription magazine and an advertisement for the annual Superhero costume bash on the other side of the desk.

Pepper's pile was already dauntingly high, and despite what she no doubt thought, Tony didn't deliberately set out to cause her more work (regardless of what he sometimes might indicate with his behavior).

It usually just 'sort of happened'.

The next three envelopes ended up on the floor unopened, the large font on the front proclaiming "Better health, better wealth!" – and he recognized yet another copy of the patent motion envelope; Pepper no doubt thought she was funny.

His plans for well-earned revenge were thwarted by the appearance of an eye-catching pink envelope, with silver edging. He crowed excitedly, reaching for it with an eagerness he would deny if asked- but these were always absolute comedic gold. Pepper had an exquisite sense of humor that dovetailed perfectly with Tony's own.

She handpicked only the best of the best of his crazy fan mail to forward on to him.

He tore the letter open, ignoring the make-shift letter-opener in favor of excited ripping.

It never occurred to him to wonder how a letter that had already been approved and vetted by Pepper could still be sealed.

The envelope carried a faint scent. Not floral though, something earthier and muskier, Tony liked it. He hoped this was another marriage proposal; Steve loved those.

Jealous Steve was all kinds of adorable.

The card inside was quality stock, a creamy white with a slight sheen to it, and as he slipped it from the envelope, lifting it to read the glossy black scrawl meandering across the front of the paper.

 _To take a breath,_

 _Press a kiss._

 _Lips to lips,_

 _For what you miss._

Tony's brow creased as his eyebrows drew together in non-plussed confusion. He felt the first vague stirrings of unsettlement, disquiet, but couldn't help lifting it again to re-read. The angle of light revealed more writing on the reverse.

Smaller text, messier. It felt cruel.

 _When death approaches,_

 _A life must end._

 _Steal another's breath,_

 _Brother, lover, sister, friend._

Tony tried to stop reading, tried to –

 _Break the cycle,_

 _But once per affection true._

 _Recieve the kiss of life,_

 _Choose the one to die for you._

The paper dropped from numb hands-

His mouth was open; he could feel the coldness of the room invading the warmth, feel his tongue flicking across his lips in frantic confirmation that he should be able to draw air. Should be able to breathe.

'Inhale,' his mind screamed, 'Inhale!', but there was no knowledge, no instinct, no memory-

There was just…nothing there.

He shoved back from the workbench, the wheeled stool shooting out from beneath him to rocket across the room and ricochet violently off the opposite workbench, screeching to a stop on its side in the center of the workshop.

"Sir?"

JARVIS did not sound overly concerned, as it was not altogether unusual for such a thing to occur in this particular workshop. The AI seemed a strange blend of amused, bemused, curious and exasperated.

JARVIS!

Only, as Tony mouthed frantically at the air, he realized, one cannot speak, if one cannot breathe.

JARVIS though, bless his perfect coding, immediately started to comprehend that all was not well, (a silent Tony always, always meant trouble – in one form or another) asking more urgently, "Sir? Do you require assista-?"

Tony nodded frantically, hands coming together, his right fisted on his left palm, drawing them upward in front of himself repeatedly. JARVIS, his fucking genius AI, instantly recognized the ASL sign for 'help,' responding immediately, "I'll alert one of the- Sir! You must disable the workshop blackout protocol! You must-"

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!

Tony had still been working on the incredibly valuable and highly volatile computer weapons system for SHIELD and had locked down external access the workshop, just in case of the improbable event that a hacker managed to piggyback JARVIS into the system. The AI still had audio/verbal capabilities throughout the tower, but Tony had isolated several of his programs within the workshop.

Tony lunged for the nearest computer console, his hands reaching for the holographic keyboard that shimmered into existence with their closing proximity.

One password typed into any electronic device in this room would be enough.

Only, Tony found, as the glaring red 'Error- incorrect password, one attempt remaining' text screamed at him from the computer screen; his own brain was going to kill him.

The holographic keyboard was perfect. Streamlined, beautiful and extremely precise.

Too fucking precise for Tony's fumbling, clumsy hands.

That were neither fumbling nor clumsy, just violently shaking because he was terrified.

And hyperventilating. Trying to hyperventilate.

Terrified that he was going to die down here.

Calm down. Tony had to calm down. He still had a minute. At least. Maybe two. He had time. He took a deep, steadying breath- except he didn't.

Oh, _fuck it_.

The glass wall beside the workshop entrance reverberated in its frame as JARVIS slammed the door open, Tony careening out into the corridor, running toward the elevator and help.

Only to suddenly realize, to suddenly remember. Everyone else was gone.

Gone for the day. Steve at some veteran thing, Nat and Clint doing as spies do, Bruce off sciencing somewhere, and Thor being Tourist Thor. Just off living their lives.

Tony slid to the floor in the elevator.

Hanging his coat on the hook beside the elevator, Steve toed off his boots, leaving them neatly against the wall. Shaking his head, he straightened the haphazard pile of sneakers and boots that belonged to Tony, Bruce, and Clint, lining them up neatly alongside his own and what had to be a pair of Natasha's ballet flats.

Only Thor's boat sized boots were still missing. It seemed Steve was second to last home.

He moved down the hall, letting the dull roar of mayhem and chaos draw him toward the kitchen. He slipped quietly into the room, leaning against the doorframe to observe.

Bruce was hovering over something on the stove, which explained the delicious smell that had wafted into Steve's nostrils before he'd even left the elevator. Bruce was probably the best cook amongst them, which was likely why he found himself volunteered for dinner duty most nights.

Natasha was seated at the table, while Clint had perched himself on the kitchen bench beside the stove, ostensibly to help Bruce by occasionally stirring, but blatantly a ploy to earn (read: pilfer) tastes.

Not seeing Tony anywhere in the near vicinity, (he even glanced under the table, to no avail. After that one time-) Steve stepped further into the room, pulling up a seat at the table as he spoke, "Smells great, Bruce."

Bruce turned to look at him, "Hey Steve. Another ten minutes or so I think. How was your day, you were helping out at the new Veteran center, right?",

Steve couldn't help but be impressed, as halfway through his greeting Bruce had leaned back and without missing a beat, blindly swatted Clint's wandering fingers as they'd approached the saucepan.

"Ow!" Clint sulked, hopping off the bench to retreat to a more strategic safe zone, setting up camp on the edge of the table beside Natasha.

Bruce shook his head, stirring the pot as he replied, "Oh, don't be a baby, you rotten little thief."

"Wow. Mean!" Clint shot back, thrusting his abused hand into Natasha's eye line for sympathy, only to have to throw himself off the table when she lunged forward, teeth snapping.

Steve shot an arm out, fisting his hand in the back of Clint's shirt, arresting the archer's headfirst momentum toward the corner of the table. Setting Clint on his feet with a shake of his head, Steve answered Bruce's original question, "Yeah, we're almost all set up. We've got the grand opening at the end of the month, and we're on track to get everything done by then. How was your day?"

"Long. Scientists. That is all." Bruce explained with a rueful headshake.

Steve grinned, "Tell me about it. Actually, on second thought- don't. Where is Tony anyway?"

"We haven't seen him, so he's likely still in the workshop. He probably lost track of time again." Natasha replied, fiddling absently with the spoon set before her.

"And the day of the week, the month…probably even the year. Thor should be back soon- he called from the subway. You should go and collect your genius." Clint added mockingly, as he grabbed bowls out of a cupboard.

Steve shook his head fondly as he answered, "Yeah- I'll go and attempt to lure him out with a mug of coffee in a few minutes. He probably hasn't eate-"

The kitchen door slid closed so hard it bounced out of its slider, somehow managing to drag itself along the runner to slam open, before closing again- slamming repeatedly. Simultaneously the lights flickered, and every electrical device in the kitchen turned on. Blenders whirred loudly, the coffee machine turning itself to grind, the dishwasher beeping its 'finished' alarm over and over and over again.

"What the hell!" Clint shouted over the noise, palming a knife as he leaped to his feet, rushing toward the nearest appliance, grabbing the plug and pulling. "STARK! Your kitchen better not be fucking haunted! I don't do poltergeist shit!"

Bruce had grabbed the blender, unplugging it and its neighboring coffee machine, and started calling, "JARVIS?! What's going on?"

"JARVIS?!"

Steve was the one to work it out, "Tony said something about Jarvis today – he had to split the system? Something to do with the nature of whatever Tony's working on... - JARVIS?! JAR- he's trying to communicate! Somethings wrong- Tony!"

Later, Steve would wonder if Tony had been sprawled on the floor of the elevator as he'd taken his time to straighten the shoes and hang up his coat.

He looked like something out of a low budget horror film.

His skin was ghastly white, the translucent blanching of shock, with spreading blotchiness coloring his cheeks with an unattractive ruddiness. The bruises under his eyes were so dark that he looked like he'd been slugged in the face, repeatedly.

And his eyes.

Blown wide; liquid brown appeared ink black, his pupils lost to the wash of hysteria.

Only his mouth outdid the horror of his eyes. A vast cavernous black hole in the middle of his face, opening and closing grotesquely, as he swallowed and choked convulsively around words that wouldn't come, air that wasn't there.

Who's fucking brilliant idea had it been to line the interior of the elevator with fucking reflective black glass?

Oh, right.

Tony closed his eyes on his reflection, determined that if he was about to die, as seemed likely, he sure as hell wasn't watching himself go.

Absently, Tony noted the unpleasant itching, and the irritating feel of sweat creeping across his skin, drawing an uncomfortable line of heat down the back of his cold and clammy neck.

Was he sweating? Huh.

 _He wondered who would find him._

The subtle movement of the elevator ceased, and he felt more than heard the elevator door snick open behind him, but couldn't gather the will even to attempt to roll over.

It wasn't that he didn't want to live.

He did. _So much._

There was still so much that he had to do, had to offer. So many advances and opportunities and breakthroughs. Things he had to make up for, atone for; so many people he owed. So many people he wouldn't help save. So many things he wouldn't get to see.

Steve's smile kept hovering at the forefront of his mind.

So, no. Tony did not want to die.

But- What was he going to do? There was no one here to help him, and even with all his genius, nothing he could think of that would help. He had-

He'd had but minutes.

Now- perhaps only seconds.

He'd pass out soon, slip into oblivion, and then-

 _And then he'd die._

There was nothing he could do.

The elevator door slid closed behind him.

Tony's vision dimmed.

Only to be shocked back into clarity when the door immediately slammed open again, and the lights within the carriage went haywire, flashing and flickering. The door continued to move backward and forward, still almost silent, but reverberating through Tony's body where he lay on the floor.

What the hell was goi-

JARVIS.

Tony squeezed his eyes shut. His creation was going to be forced to watch on in helpless agony as Tony spasmed, convulsed and twitched into death.

His right hand, shaking and spasming it its fist, came up circling over his chest several times. The ASL sign for 'sorry.'

His mind echoed the sentiment. Sorry. Sorry, sorry, god – so sorry.

It was pathetic, and nowhere near enough, but it was all he could think to give. He'd like to add 'love,' 'thanks,' 'proud' and so many others. But just- 'Sorry.'

He was so very sorry.

Steve had just stepped into the corridor when he heard the elevator door slam open, and thinking that JARVIS was trying to direct them toward the quickest means of getting to the workshop, he hurried down the hallway.

Twelve seconds later he turned the corner, not slowing as he knew JARVIS would have the door open and the carriage waiti-

The door was open, and the carriage was waiting, but it wasn't empty.

Steve threw himself into the small enclosure, dropping to his knees beside Tony's sprawled form.

"Tony! Tony!? "

Steve honestly couldn't tell if he was even alive.

He reached forward, only to freeze when Bruce shouted "No! Don't move him, Steve!"

Steve yanked his hands back to his chest, god-he knew better! Cautiously, without the previous intent to just grab and pull, Steve reached shaking hands out. One settled feather light on Tony's upturned flank, the other ghosting across the side of Tony's head, stilling against the side of his face, long fingers curling around to tangle in the short strands at the nape of Tony's neck.

Bruce dropped to his knees beside him, and glancing up; Steve glimpsed the wonder twins bracketing the doorway, giving them room, but not straying far. Looking back down as Bruce moved forward, Steve's eyes caught on the reflection of Tony's face.

His brown eyes were wide open and aware, his mouth moving as if trying to speak.

Steve had assumed he was unconscious, and he could see that Bruce was doing the same. He didn't know why – there was just, something.

The silence.

Shuffling a little closer, Steve asked, "Tony? What's wrong- are you-"

Tony was still mouthing futilely at the air, his lips forming around empty silence as he tried to-

And Steve realized that Tony wasn't trying to speak.

He was trying to breathe.

Tony's stopped twitching for an instant before a sudden body-convulsing spasm flipped him onto his back. Desperately reaching fingertips clenched at the carpeted floor and his mouth gaped wide-open.

"He's not breathing! There must be an obstruction- Tony! Tony- did you swallow something-?" Bruce exclaimed, lunging around Steve to drag his almost non-responsive friend upright, Tony's back to Bruce's chest.

The abortive Heimlich maneuver did absolutely nothing, Tony scrabbling weekly at his arms for purch-

Not for purchase, for attention.

Bruce quickly drew back, trying to get a decent line of sight. Tony convulsed in his arms, and Steve itched to reach for him.

Bruce lay Tony flat again, saying urgently "Whatever is stopping his breathing is stuck fast. Clint, I need a pen. Nat, a knife, please."

Tony reeled back. At least, as much as his slumped twitching position on the floor allowed him.

Fuck.

He had a pretty solid hunch that an emergency tracheotomy wouldn't do anything other than leave his corpse with a hole in the throat.

He needed-

The edge of his vision was a black void of nothingness. His lungs burned, so much so that he knew he was crying, as he convulsed weakly, twitching desperately on the carpeted floor of his elevator.

He wasn't getting out of this one.

And if they'd been seconds earlier, maybe, maybe he'd have had an opportunity for goodbye. But, as his eyes blinked closed of their own accord, he realized- it was too late, he was going to miss- miss-

What you miss.

He'd forgotten. In all the panic, the confusion, the fear- he'd forgotten.

 _To take a breath,_

 _Press a kiss._

 _Lips to lips,_

 _For what you miss._

He looked up through the tunnel of his vision, Steve's blond hair a beacon in his darkening world, and suddenly realized.

 _To take a breath,_

 _Press a kiss._

A kiss.

A kiss to break the spell.

He just had to find the strength, just enough for one simple kiss, and he'd finally be able to breathe.

He drew upon every last little shred of energy, every ounce of stubborn will and 'fuck the world!' left in him. A hand clutching at Bruce's shoulder to drag himself semi-upright, and then bypassing the exclaiming doctor in favor of half lunging, half falling toward Steve-

But -even as his lips somehow mashed against Steve's face, Tony couldn't help but feel, through the lightheaded fuzziness of his oxygen starved brain, that he was overlooking something of monumental importance.

Steve's skin burnt like dry ice where Tony's lips pressed clumsily, warmth barely grazing his mouth before landing squarely against his cheek, nose digging awkwardly against his cheekbone.

Steve had a hint of a second to wonder what Tony was doing. Had just enough time to start to exclaim- "Ton-!" before he was cut off by the drag of those lips, the distinct, all-too-familiar feel of Tony's mouth seeking his. And he realized that he was being kissed.

Tony, incredulously, incredibly somehow passably upright, still convulsing uncontrollably and ferociously, was kissing him.

Or at least, making a very admirable attempt, taking into consideration the twitching limbs, bleach white skin, and intense shaking.

Steve, who had been working on a method of accurately interpreting this particular level of crazy, with fair to moderate success thus-far, immediately theorized that Tony was saying goodbye.

Defying death for one last kiss?

It would be a very 'Tony' thing to do.

The final and fitting grand gesture of 'Tony 'Fucking' Stark.

Only – the kiss he'd take anytime, but Steve wasn't anywhere near ready for that goodbye.

He kept fucking missing.

How the fuck hard could it be to land just one decent kiss? It was Steve; it wasn't like he hadn't had plenty of practice!

One of those ridiculous sky-high cheekbones was hard beneath his nose, and he could feel Steve's stupidly adorable little half dimple thing against the corner of his mouth.

He needed to be an inch to the right and down slightly, which would be fine if he could aim worth a fuck right now. Apparently uncontrollable convulsing and spasming wasn't conducive to good kissing. Who'd have guessed?

He tried to inch his way to the right slightly and achieved little more than burying his nose in Steve's eye socket. His fine-motor control was utterly shot. Here he was, floundering and gaping like a fish out of water, about to die, all for want of simple fucking kiss.

Vaguely he felt the arm that was looped around his waist shift so that the hand was at his side, supporting him, it's partner gentle at his shoulder, stilling him. Steve.

Steve! Steve had worked out what Tony was trying to do- of course, he had! Steve was- Steve was going to-

Steve was pushing him away.

Pushing him gently backward, toward the hard floor, Bruce's knife and Tony's death.

Somehow, with whatever coordination, consciousness and strength he had left, Tony flung his hands out, reaching.

His gaze ensnared blue as his vision was completely swept away by grey, little proverbial fireworks flashing where his eyesight used to be and white noise rushed into the ensuing blindness to greet him.

Pushing Tony away was the complete opposite of what Steve wanted to do. But Bruce was waiting with his razor sharp knife and a razor sharp idea that might just save Tony's life, while Steve holding him close would only end it sooner.

He felt Tony go limp.

Steve felt his heart stutter in his chest, an almost physical ache that spread through his veins like fire swallowed by ice. He heard Bruce's sharp intake of breath, the expletive-filled tirade from Clint, a soft puff of air from Natasha.

And then Tony's eyes locked with his, everything else fell away, and for that instant of a second, only Tony existed. His eyes, blown wide, were huge in his face, devouring Steve's attention; focused and screaming something at him. Something relevant, meaningful, something vital.

And as that intelligent single-mindedness faded away; and with it Tony's ability to focus, to see, Steve felt twin points of contact at his shoulders.

Tony's hands fisted in the material of his shirt, weakly pulling at him, so feeble that Steve might have dismissed it as trembling and shaking, except the rest of Tony was deathly still.

It almost felt like an out-of-body experience. Or like the sensation of hearing something from a very long way away. He wasn't sure if it was even happening, or if his desperate desire was fooling his senses.

Because he was moving; and not backward or downwards.

He was blisteringly aware of the heat of Steve's arms, banded across his shoulders and around his waist. He couldn't work out if it were too hot or not hot enough.

And then it didn't matter because Steve's hand was sliding through the hair, cradling and supporting his head, drawing him closer.

A final Armageddon surge of adrenaline flooded his body, dragging him back from the void that loomed up before him, and Steve's lips were blissfully warm on his.

Nothing happened.

No sudden ability to breath, no surge of oxygen, no bright lights, and fanfare as the spell collapsed.

Just – nothing, except Steve's lips on his.

And if this was some cruel joke, some malicious twist meant to torture him to the very last second; Tony supposed he'd fallen for it; hook, line and sinker.

So.

 _Fuck it._

He'd kissed Rhodey's grandmother with more passion than this. If this was- If this was the end, his final farewell? Well, _Fuck. The. World._

Steve was getting a proper goodbye kiss.

His chest had stopped aching, the agony of breathlessness forced to retreat before the approaching wall of numbness, and Tony took advantage of what felt like a borrowed instant of time, perhaps even stolen from someone set on reclaiming it, and Tony along with it.

He allowed his weight to settle, dropping limply in Steve's grasp, the sudden adjustment bringing Tony deeper into Steve's embrace, and the lips still on his huffed a breath of surprised panic.

Tony felt the air ghost over his lips, invading his open mouth like a phantom of desperation, and wondered; had it been meant to be his?

Whatever the case, it did nothing except sit stale and decaying between them, and Tony shoved aside what-could-have-been, to stick his tongue into Steve's mouth instead.

The kiss was clumsy; weightless and odd without breath to support it, but Tony persevered, pressing up slightly as Steve cottoned onto the program and gently began to guide the exchange as Tony rapidly faded.

Tony wondered why Steve still tasted of hope.

Tony hoped he tasted of _sorryproudregretnoregretcouragelove._

A hand on his shoulder, unseen, unfelt, unnoticed, started to draw him away, and Tony-

 _...let go._

Tony slowly became aware of soft background noise, as if someone was turning the dial on a distant radio. It was little more than a quiet fuzz at the far horizon of his awareness, and he supposed, that as far as the afterlife went, it was kind of pleasant.

Much more so than the flames and pitchforks he'd figured he'd inevitably encounter.

The soft glow was lovely too.

All soft and hazy, a gentle silver through his closed eyelids.

Tony hoped to fuck that he didn't have a halo.

Tony did not want to be responsible for hell having frozen over, which would happen before he'd ever end up with a glowing ring of goodness and a pair of fluffy backscratchers.

The horrifying thought was enough for him to force his eyes open, ready to meet with whatever was next. Be it Peter and his pearly gates, vast empty glowing nothingness or a beautifully appointed engineering workshop in chrome and silver.

None of the above, apparently.

It was though, silver.

Aimlessly drifting in front of him like a stream of liquid mercury, coiling -crawling- through the air in soft wispy tendrils, like sluggish calligraphy, simultaneously beautiful and wicked.

The silver was bright against the fuzzy background of his hazy vision, and Tony didn't seem able to resist trailing the glistening snake, his eyes mapping folds and loops, all the way back to its source-

It seeped, dripped, bled dry from parted pink lips-

Steve.

Tony's tunnel vision blossomed into all its technicolor glory; the soft background noise became a cacophony of concern, fear, and surprise from the owners of the hands supporting and tugging at him.

And Tony's tongue darted out to taste the trailing dregs of silver that coated his lips.

Tony drew in a ragged shaky breath and couldn't help the grin that broke across his face when Steve' eyes widened with absolute thankfulness. The soldier leaned forward to press his lips to Tony's again with reeling fervor. His lips trembled with half-realized adrenaline as they exchanged several gentle reaffirming kisses. Steve pulled back, and Tony chased - pressing reassurance upon Steve's mouth with giddy frantic relief of his own.

Tony pulled away, silver still swirling between them as the spell dissipated, only to watch as the answering smile slowly dripped from Steve's face, blue eyes widening with panic as Steve tried to gasp for air that would not come.


	2. Steal another's breath, Brother, lover,

White spots were hazing across his vision, and Tony blinked desperately to clear them, feeling the lightheaded rush of sudden oxygenation and overwhelming relief trying to send him into a tailspin of shock almost worse than that of his near asphyxiation.

He could breathe. And he took advantage of that fact by heaving in great gasping breathes of air that set him coughing and spluttering and he wondered if it was possible that his shaking had gotten worse; he felt like he was vibrating.

Bruce was- Bruce was not green, but he was shouting, his hands on Tony's shoulders, trying to drag Tony's attention to him, and Tony could hear him, hear the orders to 'Slow! Slow breaths, Tony!", But he disregarded them, disregarded Bruce entirely because Steve was –

Gaping, jawing at the air, clutching his throat-

 _When death approaches,_

 _A life must end._

 _Steal another's breath,_

 _Brother, lover, sister, friend._

Tony had done this.

He'd stolen – stolen the very breath of his lover.

He'd swapped his own life for Steve's.

He'd swapped Steve's life for his own.

He'd-

Steve-

 _Steve was Steve._

Generous and kind, going beyond even the typical use of the description, to a deeper level of authentic selfless compassion. Steve was generous; of nature and character, emotion and heart. And brilliant, so brilliant, in the ways that truly mattered, easily surpassing Tony's academic genius. And Steve was so- important.

Already so close to devolving into chaos, the world needed Steve Rogers.

And Tony was-

Tony hadn't even given it a moment's thought before he'd-

Except–

Tony knew he was an asshole. Egocentric, and selfish. He knew, in the grand scheme of things, his comparative lack of value.

And he knew that there was no world in which he would ever willingly trade his worthless life for Steve's.

He'd die first.

 _He'd intended to die first._

"No… No- no! It wasn't- I didn't mean to – Please…" Tony felt himself shatter.

He hadn't meant to.

There was a split instant were Steve thought, relatively unconcerned for himself, that his desperate fear for Tony had merely robbed him of his very breath for a moment.

The whole situation was undoubtedly overwhelming enough.

Then the instant became a second, and the second blossomed into a necessity.

The urgent need was there, demanding and weighty behind desperation, but try as he might, Steve could not breathe.

There wasn't any sudden injury or concern or obstruction; it was just – he couldn't, he physically couldn't breathe.

Just like Tony.

Tony.

Steve's gaze snapped back into focus, immediately locking with brown that still stared wide eyes at him from several feet away.

Wide-eyed, shaking, pale and breathing.

Shallow, ragged, on the verge of hyperventilation, but breathing.

And he came to three subsequent realizations.

One, that Tony had so very narrowly escaped death by somehow passing on whatever this was.

Two, the second Tony realized what he'd done, he'd try to reverse it.

Three, like hell Steve was going to let him.

Tony broke free of Bruce's supportive/restraining hold with the ease of one pushed by desperation, lunging toward Steve.

He hadn't meant to; he hadn't realized.

He couldn't-

He couldn't be responsible for the losing Steve.

He couldn't lose Steve, period. But to be responsible for it?

He just couldn't.

He'd sooner die. _God, how he hoped he'd sooner die._

Steve, his throat caught in a grip that told of a subconscious urge to remove the obstacle in whatever way possible, head tilted back to try and open his airway, eyes wide with poorly suppressed panic- still managed to catch Tony.

Tony used his momentum and the supporting hand at his side to stretch the short distance upward, hooked an arm around Steve's neck and dragged him down by force of will, his lips –

Pressing to Steve's cheek as Steve turned his face away.

A simple sideways glance was all Steve's terrified mind could spare the attention for, but the understanding, determination, and acceptance in the blue eyes told him that somehow, Steve knew what Tony was trying to do.

Steve had no intention of letting him.

Tony tried anyway, desperation overshadowing the futility of his attempts to pull Steve's lips to his; even breathless and panicked, Steve's superhuman strength outstripped Tony's on a good day.

Trembling and weak, Tony wasn't exactly having a good day.

Tony managed to get his other arm up and around Steve's neck, and Steve, knowing better than to underestimate a determined Tony Stark, tried to push him back toward Bruce.

Tony felt something inside him snap.

His fisted hand thumped against Steve's chest, punctuating his wild shouted tirade, "No! You don't get to-," and his punctuation devolved into pummelling, his sapped strength should have made the strikes ineffectual physically, but the heartbreak on Steve's face told otherwise.

"Take it back! I didn't mean it! I wouldn't! I won't! It's yours! I can't- Steve… Take. It. Back! TAKE It-" He yelled, his voice harsh and broken, although as a result of the breathlessness or his desperation undeterminable.

Bruce, his attention drawn from Tony's concerning state, realized that Steve was now afflicted with the same strange breathlessness, simultaneously realizing that medical intervention was probably not going to work. He reached for Tony, hoping to calm him so they could work out what the hell was going on.

Tony didn't hear the reasonable explanation, the rational justification; he could focus on nothing except the fact that someone was dragging him away from Steve, and his ability to fix this.

He hauled off blindly and slugged Bruce in the face.

Two seconds later Tony found himself flat on his back on the far side of the carriage, as Bruce, breathing heavily, quickly removed himself from the decidedly not hulk-proof elevator. Natasha followed him out, hoping she'd be able to talk him down.

The sudden shove across the small space and the jarring stop that was his roughly controlled descent to the floor managed to jolt Tony back into a more rational mindset, and he lay still beneath Clint's looming frame, unsure if the archer was trying to be intimidating or protective.

Both, perhaps.

In any case, Tony silently listened as Clint spoke firmly, "Get a grip, calm the fuck down and tell us what the hell is going on. We can't help without more info."

Tony realized that Clint, alongside Natasha, had been forced to watch in a bystander capacity, helpless, unable to help as Tony, and now Steve lost the very ability to breathe.

He nodded slowly to show that he understood, that he was back in his right mind, and with a last pointed look, Clint backed off.

Tony rolled over, and stumbled to his knees, accepting the hand that appeared before his face, looking up into Bruce's face as his fellow scientist pulled him shakily to his feet.

Not a smidge of green to visible, Bruce smiled despite the beginnings of a spectacular black eye, answering the unasked question "Don't worry about me, I'm good. The big guy didn't so much as flinch."

Tony winced in silent apology but turned to more pressing matters.

Fucking Magic.

But first – Steve.

He crossed the elevator on shaky legs. Or rather, he took half a stumbling step on shaky legs, almost smashed face first into the carpet, and then let Bruce and Clint drag him the rest of the way.

Steve's eyes were clenched shut, his throat working erratically. Natasha was kneeling next to him, murmuring calmingly, to little or no effect.

Ignoring the protest of muscles that would remind him of his age later, Tony dropped to his knees, straddling Steve's legs where they stretched out on the floor. He slumped forward, catching himself with hands on Steve's shoulders.

Steve's eyes popped open, not out of surprise; no one else used and abused his body with quite the same level of ownership as Tony, but more with a wariness of a repeat attempt to take back whatever this was.

His gaze must have expressed exactly what he had been thinking, because Tony looked appropriately acquiescent, although hardly apologetic nor like he'd reconsidered, and Steve's hand came up to settle on his lover's chest just above the arc-reactor, as insurance.

Tony's hurt look at his apparent lack of trust panged at Steve's heart, but the shadow of disappointment reinforced his action and ignoring the trembling in his hands, he splayed his fingers, setting his strength at 'immovable.'

Tony sighed, but stopped his subtle pushing, and instead just leaned into Steve's strength as he spoke, semi-calmly, for the first time since they'd found him.

"God- Steve. I'm sorry! I didn't mean to- I would never- I'll fix it. I promise. I don't care how- I'll fix it. Just… look at me- you can hold your breath for a ridiculous amount of time. You're choosing to do this. Like you're holding your- Good."

And it was true. As soon as Steve 'chose' to hold his breath, taking away the power the involuntary breathlessness had over him, he realized he was physically unharmed, and would be for at least several more minutes.

Moving one hand to cup his jaw, Steve very deliberately turned Tony's face to the side and leaning forward he pressed a kiss of thanks to his cheek, almost grinning when he felt Tony testing the concentration of his hold.

Almost.

Bruce prompted them with a soft cough of expediency.

Tony sighed as Steve pulled back slightly, but obediently he turned so he had the entire team in his sight.

"It was-"

Slow. The recounting of the lead-up was sluggish, with Tony still gasping shuddery uneven breaths every few rasped words, and Steve resolutely ignoring the burn in his chest that reminded him far too much of his childhood.

"-in my mail. I read it, and- poof! Bye-bye breathing." Tony paused for breath, and then added, "Fucking Magic."

Bruce didn't look convinced otherwise precisely, but for the sake of science he did have to be the voice of reason, "We can't know that for certain. It could be a contact passed contagion or-"

The look Tony leveled him had Bruce sighing, but it was Clint's snort and 'wavy hands of voodoo,' probably supposed to indicate the glowing silver substance that had swirled between Steve and Tony, that had Bruce capitulating enough to add, "But yes- probably magic."

Natasha, with an eye to Steve; aware that their current mission was time-sensitive, broke in to prompt the conversation forward, "The letter- what did it say?"

Tony blinked.

 _When death approaches,_

 _A life must end._

 _Steal another's breath,_

 _Brother, lover, sister, friend._

"Selfish, conceited, egotistical, superior, narcissistic-"

In print, in person, on TV, screamed at him in the street, whispered behind his back. He'd heard them all, and more often than not, he'd agreed with them.

Although, never so much as in this moment. If ever there was a moment where Tony had earned his 'Merchant of death' title, this would be it.

Purposely and with foreknowledge, he'd placed his own worthless life above someone else. Above Steve's.

And Tony silently added a word he'd never heard anyone utter in his presence, never thought he'd ever be labeled, no matter what else he was.

Coward.

He couldn't tell them.

Not these people, his people. His family. He couldn't watch disbelief turn to hatred. Or worse, resignation turn to disgust.

But Steve was still licking his lips in a forming habit, trying to distract himself from the need to draw breath. They were too out of time for Tony to work out how to say 'I chose to do this to you' in a way that painted him slightly more favorably than 'unlovable selfish asshole.'

So he just – didn't.

"To take a breath, press a kiss. Lips to lips, for what you miss.", Tony recited from memory, not looking up from where his hand was clenched white in Steve's.

Even as he'd read that very line, his breath had still been whistling between his teeth, incredulity fuelling his snorts of disbelief. He'd made it to the last word of the letter before his breathing had just- stopped. He wondered if it might have made a difference, if he'd finished reading, right then.

But he hadn't.

And he'd stolen Steve's very last, and was breathing in borrowed life while Steve's chest was still and silent against his side.

Tony was broken from his musings when Bruce prompted him- "Was that all?"

Not even close.

There was still a chance he could fix this though, without anyone ever knowing, and Tony just had to shape the poem in a way that left only one solution.

"Take a simple kiss, from a love that is sure.

Press lips to lips and breathe-not no more."

On the fly, he didn't think it was his worse work. It might be complete bullshit, but at least it rhymed and everything.

"Who the fuck did you piss off this time?" Clint, of course, broke the heavy silence that had followed Tony's final words.

Tony was more thankful for the attempt at normalcy than he was willing to admit, answering, "Why do you always assume it was me?" At Clint's disbelieving look, Tony weakened, "Okay, point taken - I'll give you this one. Put finding out on the to-do list. Right above killing them painfully and slowly."

Clint nodded, a tight smile breaking free at the sudden rush of usefulness, "I'll go get the letter thing- and Nat can check the security footage of the mail run. We'll be back ASAP."

Natasha, apparently not minding being volunteered, got to her feet with grace and precision, only a hand on Steve's shoulder telling of her concern and reluctance to leave.

Both knew that there was little they could offer in the immediate future, as far as medical assistance went, and nothing that Bruce would not think of first. Both were aware that their skills would be better applied elsewhere for now.

"Clint!? Don't- Don't read it!" Tony shouted after them, although not for the reason they'd all assumed, not solely at least.

Clint's "Duh!" was still echoing up the hall and into the elevator, as Tony turned back to Steve- "Can we just finish this thing please- just… red white and blue might be your colors babe, but not when you're turning them."

And it was true, Steve's skin had leeched of color, now a pasty white, highlighted by points of red brushing across each cheek and darts of blue forming at the corners of his lips.

They were out of time. And Clint would have the letter in his hands any minute now, and even just a glance would reveal the beginning of the falsehood Tony had crafted.

And then-

They'd never forgive him. Never believe him when he said he hadn't meant to do it.

But if he managed to fix it?

Only, when Tony turned to him, his hands coming up to frame Steve's face, Steve pushed him away, shaking his head.

Tony stared in disbelief; fear and desperation rapidly brought anger back to the fore of his emotions, "For fuck's sake! Do you want to die!? Do you think I want to have killed you!? The fucking letter said a second kiss 'lips to lips' would break the fucking thing, so help me god, I'm sticking my tongue down your throat!" and he reached for Steve again.

Steve's universal handwave for 'just a minute, wait a minute!' wasn't as successful at stopping Tony as the hand Steve had on his shoulder, but stayed he was regardless.

"Fine! What!?" Tony snarled when it became clear his lips weren't getting any closer to Steve's until the man had said whatever it was he wanted to.

'Said' was relative.

Just his hand, settling over Tony's chest, fingers gracing the edge of the covered arc-reactor, thrumming gently.

Tony stared at him for a second, and then answered the seven million questions his lover wasn't asking.

"The reactor is fine. I'm fine- okay, okay! I'm not actively dying right now. I'm pretty sure- like 67% sure that this will work. Yes, I promise to give it back if it doesn't break the curse. I promise! I will! Fuck Steve- even if I decide I'm not going to, how do you think I'd stop you! Yes! Fine! Okay! I know that. No, I do- I know that. I- you too."

Bruce gave up trying to follow the conversation between Steve's eyes and Tony's lips three seconds into the exchange but snapped his attention back when Tony pitched forward and pressed his lips to Steve's.

Bruce wasn't sure what they were waiting for. A signal? Some bang or pop to signify the end of the…spell, curse…thing? Whatever the case, nothing happened.

Just – nothing.

And then- Steve pushed Tony away minutely, reluctantly; waiting, hoping desperately but still expecting-

The silver light that spilled from his separated lips, meandering a gentle path through the air, coiling and weaving amongst itself and touching, gracefully, against Tony's bottom lip.

Something snapped within Steve, and the desperately sought after gasp of air rushed into his lungs, filling him with a lightheaded giddiness that was equal parts relief and dread.

Across from him, Tony didn't even bother trying to draw breath.

He just licked his still slivery lips, and despite the widening eyes of instinctual panic, and the hand that came up to press were his own rested over the arc reactor; Steve recognized the calm emotion that settled across Tony's features.

Redemption.

And Steve knew that Tony had expected this outcome.

Expected, and welcomed it.

Hoped for it.

Tony had hoped that once returned; the breath would not be able to be exchanged again.

"What have you done?" Steve breathed.

And the irony of that wasn't lost on him.

"What have you done?" Steve breathed, the words catching on themselves and ghosting with jagged edges from his lips, his voice a gravelly ruined mess of choking anguish.

It wasn't a question expecting an answer.

It wasn't a question at all.

It was a plea.

Tony's eyes slipped away, hopeless apology and a complete lack of remorse gracing every line of his body.

"What have you done!?", Only the words remained the same the second time they fell from Steve's lips, the breathy whisper of fear scraping over raw horror, replaced with burning furious rage.

Because he already knew what Tony had done. Had known the instant he'd met Tony's eyes.

Tony's life for Steve's.

And Tony had accepted that offer.

Hoped for it, welcomed it.

Knowingly.

Willingly.

And it didn't matter that Steve would do the same thing in a heartbeat; was actively trying to do the same thing right now.

It didn't matter.

It didn't matter that it made no logical sense, that it was hypocritical to the extreme. It didn't matter that it was pointless and purposeless and irrational.

It didn't matter, because Steve was still furiously, desperately angry.

Tony was going to die. And Steve-

Steve-

Wouldn't accept that.

Just- couldn't.

Steve shoved himself away, vision washing red as he lunged to his feet, and turning, put his fist through the wall of the elevator.

Shaking with blind rage, his hand, bloodied red and cradled protectively against his chest, Steve looked down to meet impossibly wide eyes, dark with fear, and he buckled, rage leaving him like a marionette with cut strings as he slumped to his knees, reaching.

Tony scrambled backward, away.

Steve stared, feeling hurt sweeping through his chest like a physical ache-

Tony licked his lips and dropped his gaze away, tense and wary…

Cautious. Guarded.

"You- You absolute asshole..." Steve breathed, unable to get decent volume against the fury rising within him, savage and unrestrained. "You were hoping I'd what? Just let you die?! Get over he-" Steve lunged forward even as spoke, ignoring Bruce's startled yelp.

Tony's eyes flew wide, and Steve knew he was right.

They could pass it again.

They still had a chance to fix this, and Tony was – what? Ready to give up?

Nothing about that statement rang true to Steve, but he didn't have the time to contemplate the idiots' motivation – Tony's lips were turning blue, and he was trembling violently.

And he was still backing away.

Within three steps, Tony's back was flush against the elevator wall.

With nowhere to go, Steve was on him in seconds.

Pulling Tony's fists away from where they pressed against his lips was the work of one hand, Steve's strength easily pushing past the weak attempt to stop him.

Tony's lips were rigid beneath his own, his mouth stubbornly sealed against Steve's probing tongue, and Steve could feel Tony's hands shoving feebly against his chest, lack of energy making his absolute non-compliance no less desperate.

Self-disgust at the idea of forcing himself on Tony, on anyone, under almost any other circumstance would have obliterated him. Even now, feeling Tony desperately trying to turn his face away from the unforgiving grip, Steve felt his stomach rebel, prevented only by the knowledge that he was trying to save Tony's life.

Trying.

Steve pulled back.

Silver spilled from Tony's trembling lips.

Tony snarled wordlessly, jackknifing forward, shoving Steve away with such ferocity that the soldier bodily slammed into the opposite side of the small elevator car, the internal box shuddering within the shaft.

For a moment, their gazes held, and then Tony dragged in a raw shuddering breath, pressing a hand over watering eyes as he slid to the elevator floor, curling in on himself.

Silver dissipated against Steve's grimly pressed lips, and he relaxed slightly against the wall, wetting his lips against the sudden useless urge to breathe. He wanted to fold himself around his miserable lover, wanted to drop to his knees and cradle Tony until all the fear and hurt disappeared.

Steve also wanted to kill him, rage still boiling away below his skin.

He needed a moment.

In the doorway, Bruce wrung his hands together, feeling uselessness. Steve may have brought them several minutes reprieve, but it wouldn't last – the spell seemed determined that one of them would die. It just remained to be seen which one would lose the argument- and live. There was nothing he or anyone could do. This was- This was beyond any doctor's realm of skill.

Bruce's eyes suddenly widened, and he shook his head at his stupidity, "God. Strange! I'll find Strange!"

To his credit, Bruce was out the door before Steve's eyes could pop back open, hope re-kindling. If there was someone who would be able to stop this- spell, curse…whatever- It would be the reclusive Dr. Strange.

With the time Steve had bought, it might just be enough.

He could feel the heavy weight of Steve's gaze on the back of his neck. It was sharp and heated with anger, prickling against his skin.

Tony knew he deserved it.

He'd done this. This was his fault.

He squeezed his eyes shut against the pain that throbbed beneath the arc reactor, heavy and dull, a thick ache that worsened each time-

 _Break the cycle,_

 _But once per affection true._

 _But once per…_

Tony felt his throat constrict at the suddenly remembered line, the cursive script flowing through his mind like a photograph.

Tony wasn't even sure he knew what love was. Wasn't sure he would recognize it if he felt it. Didn't know if he ever had. Tony didn't know if he even believed in 'love,' as a feeling or emotion, demonstrative or otherwise.

What Tony did know; was that what he felt for Steve, (if it wasn't love) was as close to it as he'd ever physically and verbally been able to express. Steve was- Steve was his everything.

It was apparently close enough for the spell as well, for Steve and at least two others; they'd exchanged breath three times already.

Completely overlooking the implications of 'per affection true' Tony tried to count the number of people he might just care for some capacity, while simultaneously attempting to not dwell on how unsure he was about the pathetically short list.

Rhodey. Always.

Pepper. Undoubtabley.

That was it.

The two other people.

Everything else depended on the required level of affection. What made a feeling 'true'? He was fond of Bruce. Very Fond. Was it enough though?

He hoped so.

And feather-brain? For sure ( if somewhat reluctantly).

Their Russian spy ballerina assassin witch? ...The fact that he called her 'theirs' was probably a good indicator.

Bruce, Nat, Clint and - well, Thor was his favorite.

So six, maybe?

Was there anyone else?

JARVIS belonged on that list as much as another, but - would the spell accept affection for a non-organic entity. Or was this a human-specified curse?

If he included the bots (and other engineer-created objects?), his numbers could sky-rocket.

Shit. Fury? Agent?

Well, he guessed it would depend on what level of affection was required, and probably whether a passive-aggressive love/hate relationship counted.

Did they have to be alive?

Peggy? Jarvis? His Mother?

He didn't have enough information. But - three.

Three was his minimum.

 _He was already at three._

They could potentially volley this back and forth like a reluctantly thrown ball, until finally- someone got stuck with it. Could it already be Steve? Was it already too late.

It couldn't be.

 **It Couldn't!**

 _He had to fix this._

Steve was going to die in his place, and Tony was going to have to live with that knowledge, and he didn't think he could.

He felt blind panic rising behind his eyes, a burst of white-hot pain at his temples that set him swaying where he crouched. He was trembling and shaking, simultaneously hot and cold, his stomach rolling with nausea that threatened to burn bile up the back of his throat. His chest constricted and ached and he suddenly couldn't breathe beyond choking shallow puffs that tore at his -

Hands gripped vice-like around his biceps, pulling him upright, propping him against the elevator wall, moving to tap gently at his cheeks-

Tony's eyes popped open to meet Steve's frantic blue gaze, not a handbreadth from his own. Huge and worried over wordlessly pleading lips-

Tony only had to lean forward slightly.

Steve's lips froze still beneath his own.

Pain erupted at the base of his skull where his head bounced off the wall at Steve's sudden shove. He could see the light exploding from behind closed lids.

It was silver.

Steve looked down at the upturned face cradled between his palms, pale, but for the blotchy redness of his cheeks. He pressed lips to lips, again. Again. Again. Again. No silver spilling from Tony's lips- Again. Again. Again.

Again. He tasted salt before he noticed the glistening wetness that seeped from beneath closed lids. Noticed the tiny trembling smile.

It was devastating.

Steve closed his eyes. Breathed.

Sliding to the floor, he dragged Tony, awkwardly limp and unresisting into his arms, cradled in his lap.

He pressed his lips to Tony's wrist, over the rapid, staccato pulse point.

"Why did you have to go and do a thing like that?" Steve asked.

Tony shivered a silent huff of broken laughter against his chest.

"-ou- fuck! YOU ABSOLUTE FUCKING FUCK! You better not be dead yet, because I'm going to kill you my damn self! "

Steve looked up; half stunned out of his abject anguish by the sudden vitriol screaming its way up the corridor, accompanied by the unmasked footfalls of someone who didn't give a damn how much noise he was making.

Clint skidded to a stop in the elevator doorway, almost overshooting the entrance, but catching himself on the door frame at the last second. His hostile gaze dropped to Steve's and then widened to take in the whole tableau; Tony's convulsing silently on the floor beside his shell-shocked partner.

"You- Your an asshole! This- This is-!-" Clint gestured to the paper held tight in a white-clenched fist, almost speechless with abject rage, "You- I can't even- Were you just going to die?! Rather than admit that- Goddamn! "

Steve, eyes wide and confused, his arms tightening around Tony felt something akin to reluctant hope sweep through him. He asked, "Clint? What's going on?"

The archer's gaze shifted to Steve, and he opened his mouth, blinked, shook his head violently and turned his piercing gaze back to Tony, too swept up by his anger to be distracted from it, "Pass it" he hissed, " It's not a fucking weakness! Fucking pass it back. Give us time."

Tony smirked somewhat smugly, and Clint snarled, threw the balled up letter at him "Nope. Just – no. This is not happening until I've kicked your ass at least six ways to Sunday, you lying asshole!" Clint dropped to his knees, grabbed Tony by the shoulders and dragging him limply upright.

And with a livid snarl, he smashed their lips together.

When Clint pulled away, Steve somehow knew that the archer was fully expecting silver to spill from Tony's lips.

His look of surprise when nothing happened was nearly comical. The look of hurt that followed less so.

"You- I - You're supposed to-" Clint babbled disjointedly, and Steve frowned; Clint knew something he didn't.

"Clint?" Steve injected, kneeling up slightly to get his attention. Clint though seemed utterly ensnared by Tony as the other stared down at the piece of paper smoothed flat beneath his palm against the floor.

Paper that appeared to have a lot more than half a dozen words written on it.

Before he had time to voice his suspicion, Tony listed sideways with an almost apologetic grace, slumping to the floor of the elevator with barely a whisper of cloth on the carpet.

Steve lunged forward, pulling Tony towards himself with desperation, words tumbling unchecked from his lips, "No. No, breathe, goddamn it- please! Come on Tony. Tony, baby, please- Please breathe! Please…"

It was a futile plea, but one that people were prone to make in situations like this; where begging and demanding seemed to have as much a chance of working as anything else.

Steve felt like his chest was ripping open, his heart tearing apart, jagged edges grating raw against each other, sharp like glass. Dropping any and all pretense of control, he dragged Tony upright and into his arms, holding him steady against the ragdoll-like limpness that was a sickening foreshadow.

"No! Please!" His lips pressed against Tony's, and again – desperate, frantic, nigh hysterical, "Don't do this! Please, Tony! Tony, - I love you! Please! Please..."

Steve was beyond realizing that what Tony believed was irrelevant – this was magic, and magic had its own rules and interpretations.

Tony's hand found the side of his face, his fingers barely a feathers grace against his skin as they fell away, and as Steve watched with helpless anguish, the spark in those brown eyes began to dim.

Pigheaded stubbornness was something that Bruce had learned to associate with Tony very early in their friendship, and he knew the man had ridiculous reserves of strength and creativity.

Still, when he stepped back into the elevator after less than three minutes, he wasn't prepared to find Tony, white as a sheet, eyes rolled back in his head and keening silently against the curve of Steve's hip, lax and spasming continuously against the carpet floor of the elevator.

"Tony!?"

Steve looked up startled at the unexpected shout, and Bruce just knew.

It wasn't going to matter that Strange was only five minutes away.

They didn't have-

Tony didn't have five minutes.

Steve confirmed it. "I can't take it back. Bruce-" He choked on the last work, a plea, for Bruce to do something.

If he didn't- if he couldn't, they were going to lose Tony.

No. Not lose, as if he'd turn up again if they searched hard enough.

 _Tony was going to die._

Bruce reached for the knife.

With Steve, who had settled one forearm across Tony's upper chest and shoulders, his other hand cupped against Tony's forehead, and a leg was thrown over Tony's own, holding immobile, Bruce shuffled forward on his knees, the blade of the knife coming to rest against Tony's bared throat.

With a deep fortifying breath, he pressed.

Only to watch in perverse bemusement as the blade bent, as if Tony's skin were adamantium.

"-what…" Bruce mouthed incredulously. He tried again, despite the curled tip of the knife, shoving forward in a desperate hacking motion- the blade skittered out of his hand, slid smoothly across Tony's skin with nary a scratch and embedded itself in the far wall.

The spell wasn't letting him go that easily.

 _Blink._

Everything was fading in and out of focus, spinning sickeningly around him, a slow, dizzying spiral of blurring colors and shine.

 _Blink._

The blood that had been roaring in his ears as panic and adrenaline coursed through his veins faded to a deafening silence, only the stuttering thud of his heart remaining.

 _Blink._

Black washed across his vision suddenly, his sight tunneling to a glimmer of washed-out grey.

 _Blink._

Darkness.

 _Bl-_


	3. Recieve the kiss of life, Choose the one

Bruce slumped backward, burying his head in his arms, his hands tugging angrily at his hair. There was nothing he could do. Tony was going to die on the floor right in front of him, and Bruce was helpless to stop it.

 _His best friend. Dying._

And then Clint dropped to his knees, hands linking together over Tony's chest, resting slightly above and to the left of the reactor.

Struggling to his knee, the scientist scrambled across to Clint's side, "Wait! Wait – he can't- CPR doesn't- I can- The arc reactor has a built-in defib system! If I just-"

Bruce shouldered Clint aside, and Steve watched as green rippled up his forearms, muscles curled and bunched as he ripped the material of Tony's t-shirt down the center, bringing the arc-reactor into full view.

Carefully unscrewing the protective casing from the front of the reactor, Bruce glanced to his left, and gestured to Steve with a nod, "Knife, please- I need something metal to conduct."

Steve grabbed the blade, hopeful heart rising into his throat as he deliberately ignored the fact that Tony was -

He handed the knife to Bruce.

Bruce turned, poised to slip the thin blade down the side of the reactor, into the electric blue glow-

"Wait! Wait- Don't!"

Three heads snapped up, gazes catching on Thor and Natasha as they rushed up the hallway, Thor's deep voice booming to echo after Natasha's urgent order to stop-

"I know of this spell; it is my brothers doing! You must not disrupt the magics yet! "

Bruce froze, pulling away as Thor forced his too large frame into the already over-crowded elevator, Natasha pressing in at his side.

Looking to Steve, Thor ordered, "Breathe for him- the kiss of life from one who holds true affection will rend the spell inert! "

Steve, nonplussed, but reassured by Thor's calm sure confidence, released his death grip on Tony with some amount of difficulty, hand settling into Tony's sweat-damp hair, and turning his slack face towards himself slightly. Bending, he brought their lips together yet again.

Half expecting to be rebuffed by a magical barrier, Steve was pleasantly surprised to be met with no resistance. His gentle puffs of breath (wary should his enhanced lungs damage Tony's with their reduced capacity) causing the soft rise and fall of Tony's otherwise still chest.

Steve felt a hand (calloused with short fingers- Clint) settle on his left shoulder, and he could feel Bruce's body heat to his right. The hope was tangible, heavy and cloying in the small space, and Steve felt his blood thrumming as adrenaline jolted through his veins. He felt high with desperate anticipation.

And then Tony twitched.

Gasped, jerked and coughed violently, tears streaming from watery eyes as he trembled and fought for breath.

Alive. Breathing.

Everyone breathing.

The spell broken.

* * *

" - it is a spell he created when he was quite young, around six of your earth years I believe. I remember it only because he would enchant our mother with it whenever she was sad. Our father was in the Odinsleep much for many years across this era."

Thor's voice grew wistful as he continued, and Tony had to strain to hear; the god had turned his head away, perhaps to stare from the window, finding eons ago in the darkness beyond.

"Loki would sit on her lap, this tiny dark-haired mite. And they would exchange breath back and forth and giggle. It was the music that filled the chambers on many a quiet afternoon. I think he was trying, in his typical convoluted way, to remind her that she was beloved. And that she was- their games could go for hours."

Tony all but heard Thor shake himself back into the present, his voice sounding much closer when he continued, "I do not know for which purpose he thought to cast such a spell on our shield-brother, but I will find out. This I promise, along with retribution if desired. Beyond that, I can only apologize for my brothers-"

There was silence for a moment, and Tony waited, semi-patiently-

"My brother's despicable attack, utilizing magic against an unsuspecting innocent. Especially such a vicious heartbreaking assault. I cannot even-'

Tony could hear the disgust and hate, the denial and recrimination in Thor's voice, and he agreed wholeheartedly. Whatever Loki may have been in the past, or may still have the potential to become in the future; what he had done to humanity, and what he had nearly done to Tony, had done to Tony's family today?

Reprehensible.

But Thor's recriminations were aimed at himself.

Tony couldn't have that. Time to stop playing possum and face the music.

He rolled over slowly, cutting across the beginning of Steve's own reassuring refusal of Thor's guilt with his own, "Trust me, Thunder- I know all about family pulling dick moves. None of this is on you. "

Thor's "Anthony! " coincided quite well with exclamations of "Tony!" and "Stark."

Steve squeezed Tony's hand ( had he been holding Tony's whole time? That was nice.) and added his reassurance, "No one is responsible for anything someone else does. I'm just glad you got home when you did."

Tony nodded his fervent agreement, "Really glad."

And Steve squeezed his hand again (still nice), "Really, really glad."

Thor didn't look overly convinced (hallmark hero trait; shouldering responsibility that didn't belong to you) but nodded his gratitude to the absolving kindness, "Thank you. I am still sorry for your great suffering. If there is anything I can do, you have only to but ask."

Tony nodded "Thanks, Point-break, but I think- "

Steve leaned in close to hiss, "If you say you're okay, you will unquestionably be responsible for my actions" and Woah, okay- someone had some anger simmering away there.

Not that Tony blamed him. The whole thing had been dick move upon dick move, and he wasn't absolving himself of at least a little of the dickishness.

He giggled.

"Dickishness."

Clint snorted from across the room. "He's high as a kite. We won't get anything useful out of him at the moment."

"Love you too, feather-ass" Tony sniped, sticking his tongue out in Clint's general direction.

"Yeah. But do you?" Clint fired back, and then bit after the words like he hadn't intended to say them aloud, wanted to take them back and-

"What?" Tony asked, because-

The archer shook his head, leaning back into the folds of the dark curtains gathered to the side of the large window. "Nothing. Never mind. "

Tony frowned.

But once per affection true.

Surely… he narrowed his eyes.

Clint refused to meet his gaze.

Shit.

"It was a fucking magic spell! Created by that dry-iced fruit-loop! For fuck's sake Clint, I don't know what bloody identifiers it attached to that so-called 'affection'! If say I care about you and I damn well do!"

Clint had crossed his arms defensively during Tony's little tirade, but now raised an eyebrow questioningly (Tony half expected him to threaten tazing and Super Nanny reruns for an instant. Fucker.) and whined, "Fine. Point. But who was four? Rhodey one, Pepper two, Steve three. Who's four? Am I four?"

Tony stared.

"Four? Why four? What fou- -You damn vent-squatting ingrate! You counted?! So, what - I'm supposed to just admit to liking one of you more than the rest? Number four is probably the workshop coffee machine! How the hell would I know!"

"Hey- hey, calm down…" Steve injected, squeezing Tony's hand again and moving from his chair to perch on the bed beside Tony.

All very nice and loving.

Except Steve was the only one who knew how many times they'd passed the damn thing back and forth.

"Calm down? You calm down! I'm not talking about this anymore. And get off my bed. " Tony griped, but he knew the dopey smile on his face was in blatant disagreement with his last order, and Steve seemed to realize this as he didn't even attempt to pull his hand away.

(Clint was jealous, Steve was caring, and Tony was breathing, and everything had turned out okay after all).

"If you don't want to talk about that, how about we talk about this?" Steve replied, holding up the now very crumbed and frayed piece of simple stock card between two fingers with his own raised eyebrow and- oh shit.

"Um."

Steve sighed, retorting "very eloquent" as he backed down, "You and I are going to talk about this later though-"

But Tony didn't want to. He'd had The. Worst. Day. He had enough new nightmare material to fund the Drive-Tony-Crazy-Endeavor for months. He'd potentially, almost, kind of attempted to kill the guy he was sure he actually might love. People were angry with him. His people. He didn't need anyone else disappointed in him – he just-

Everyone was suddenly shuffling out of the room, Thor regaling them with some tale of his days' adventure, something to do with the reason the god had needed to procure the several sizes too small 'I heart New York' t-shirt he was currently wearing. The story entailed, as far as Tony could gather from his few snatched words, a hotdog vendor, a screaming two-year-old, and a poodle.

And then they were gone like some unspoken signal had been received.

Steve's voice was quiet, from close by, "Tony? Babe? You with me? Take a breath- "

Tony giggled wetly through his tears-

Oh.

"Oh." Tony whispered, touching fingertips to his damp cheeks, pulling his hand away to look at the glistening wetness with more than slight bafflement.

Steve felt the carefully banked fire of his anger dampen as if by those same unnoticed tears.

 _God, what a mess of a day._

He sighed, shifting closer and reaching to press Tony's moistened fingertips between his own. His voice was gentle and unassuming as he spoke "Hey- you're all good. A few hours sleep and you'll bounce right back. You're just exhausted. It's all just catching up to you suddenly. We're okay. "

"We're okay. " Tony parroted, turning his hands slightly in Steve's, glancing at the letter now barely visible pressed between their palms.

Steve wasn't looking forward to that conversation at all. It was one they'd had many times before, and it always followed the same script.

Steve would get angry even when he knew he really shouldn't. Tony would get defensive, devolve into petulant, steamroll through belligerence, and finally steamroll straight into a blistering temper himself. And in full circle, Steve would become defensive of his knee-jerk reaction.

They were both wrong to be upset; they were both right to be upset. It was an ever-revolving argument, dependant on the situation; who ended up in the bed and who was left with only remnants of fear, and feelings of helplessness and hopelessness.

"Sorry I lied. Sorry." Tony apologized.

Steve glanced up. Stared.

It had never started like that before.

The apology, if forthcoming at all, was usually begrudging, and it never came before less than 15 minutes of back-and-forth volleys, several decibels higher than reasonable.

Tony sounded completely sincere. The fact that he still seemed on on the verge of tears didn't help Steve's heartstrings any as they stretched painfully to accommodate the ridiculous amount he loved this ridiculous man.

"I was just– I couldn't let it be you. Any of you. It had to be me. I didn't want it to be me, but it couldn't be anyone else and I just- I knew if I told you how to stop the spell... It would be you. You'd make sure of it. Lying to you was the only way I could-"

Steve gathered him forward into his arms properly, his reply nearly as disjointed and rambling as Tony own explanation, "I know. Thank you. I'm so upset with you; you should have given me a choice. But I know that you knew what decision I would have made, so I get why you didn't. So, maybe I'm not angry? But I am sorry as well."

Tony sniffed, turning into Steve's hold, thumping his head against Steve's shoulder, whining softly, "Today Sucked. Loki sucks. Loving you sucks."

Steve snorted, hugging tighter, answering, "You're not exactly a picnic yourself, you know. Luckily, I'm an enhanced individual, equipped to withstand such battering of the heart. And you're more than worth it. Now shut up- I'm trying to listen to you breathe."

Two shallow breaths later, Tony's chest stilled beneath his hand, and Steve pulled back sharply to with a heart stuttering concern-

Tony let out the shaky breath he'd been holding, sniggering between words, "Sorry! Sorry- too soon? Way too soon. Sorry! I love you! "

Steve closed his eyes listening to Tony take exaggeratedly reassuring breaths, unable to keep a ruefully amused smile from creeping across his face.

He pressed a kiss to Tony's lips and pointedly didn't think about fluid silver light, instead focus on sparkling liquid brown before him as the white card fluttered to the floor and disappeared from view beneath the bed.

* * *

 **To take a breath,**

Press a kiss.

 **Lips to lips,**

For what you miss.

 **When death approaches,**

A life must end.

 **Steal another's breath,**

Brother, lover, sister, friend.

 **Break the cycle,**

But once per affection true.

 **Recieve the kiss of life,**

Choose the one to die for you.


End file.
